Daddy's Little Devil
Introduction – Constant Boredom
Scarlett Moriarty strode briskly through the cold, dimly lit street, trying to hide herself in the hood of the coal black jacket that she wore. It was raining heavily, and although it was absolutely freezing, she really did not feel like going back to that stupid little foster home. It was full of the rejected children, those whom nobody wanted to adopt. She was one of them, with the exception of the fact that they were all complete morons.
Her curtain of dark hair sweeping across her icy, pointed features, she stalked through the constant rainfall, feeling a shiver instantaneously run down her spine. Rain was absolutely disgusting.
Her cold brown eyes flickered to her left, where she caught a glimpse of graffiti scrawled childishly across the wall – "Steeve wuz ere" it read – and she rolled her eyes in abhorrence at how illiterate it seemed. If you were going to do graffiti, you might as well do something witty, intelligent and memorable.
She had to admit, she was being a little bit hypocritical there. She herself did graffiti – intelligently, not the kind of shit that the chavs in her neighbourhood found so frightfully amusing – and that was one of the reasons she had ended up in juvie. Scarlett didn't really like thinking about being holed up in there, and especially after she had been attacked by that idiotic chav Lana...yeah, it wasn't one of the best times in her fifteen years of life.
Blowing a strand of her dark waves out of her face through the corner of her mouth, she glanced momentarily to her left and found herself letting out a quiet sigh. Next to her was the foster home in which she had lived almost all of her life. It was a large building, looming over her, seeming almost ominous in the rain. But really, in the light of day, it was bright red and overly cheerful, with lights shining out from every single window.
Well, I'm here now, she thought to herself, I might as well go in.
Pulling the hoodie even tighter over her slim body, she strolled into the building to hear the irritating chirp of her social worker, Elaine Walker. She was a complete pain to be around, and so cheerful and smiley that it almost made Scarlett feel ill just being around her. She wasn't one of the...hm, sharpest tools in the box, so that just added to the list of things that Scarlett detested about her social worker.
"Hello, sweetie!" Elaine chimed, "You were out far too late, don't be out so late next time!"
"Don't talk to me." was all that Scarlett muttered in response as she stalked right past the short woman and began to stride briskly up the rickety wooden staircase. Scarlett wasn't the best with people in general, but she usually tried to make an effort. With Elaine, however, she really could not be bothered to even try.
"You know, Scarlett, you really should see a psychiatrist! Being a sociopath is not natural, sweetie!" Elaine called up the stairs, but already, Scarlett was racing through the corridors, her Doc Martens slamming against the wooden floor, making it creak slightly.
Could she be any more irritating? Jeez...
Soon enough, Scarlett charged into her own room and did a running leap onto her bed, smacking her shin violently against the badly wallpapered wall in the process. She let out a stream of cuss words as she did so, before immediately shutting up.
God, I'm bored, she contemplated, and I'm bored of all of this crap.
"Bo-ring." she crooned, grabbing a crumpled up piece of paper which she had doodled on from her soaking wet satchel and lobbing it against the wall forcefully. It ricocheted off of the wall with a loud smack and straight onto the floor, resting with the other pile of scrunched up paper that was near to the bin – yet she couldn't be arsed to put it in the bin, she had better things to do – in the centre of the mess. Her room was a complete tip, yet wasn't that normal for a teenage girl?
Normal. It must be so easy to be normal. To not be constantly bored of your dull, everyday routine and to never ever question why you have to live like it. To have such a tiny brain, with nothing going on, whilst hers is racing like a rocket going out of control.
Scarlett stretched on her uncomfortable bed, yawning slightly. She was quite tired from pacing around all day.
Absent-mindedly, she glanced to the ancient-looking clock above her and surveyed the time. Apparently, it was nine thirty.
She decided that she would sleep. There was nothing else of remote interest for her to do anyway. Besides, the next morning, her boring routine would start all over again.